


What Dreams May Come

by burningrosegirl98



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Doctor Strange (2016), Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Death, Civil War (mentioned), Clairvoyance, Dark Magic, Destiny and all that fun stuff, F/M, Have fun crying, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Grant Ward, I Don't Even Know, Loki Feels, Loki's Daughter - Freeform, Magic, OC is main character, Original Character Death(s), Tragedy, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningrosegirl98/pseuds/burningrosegirl98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knew, once she met his eyes, that she was going to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set after Thor: The Dark World.  
> That's all I have to say.  
> I regret nothing. :P

She knew, once she met his eyes, that she was going to die.

            She’d seen him before, of course, in the visions shown to her by her Sight; she’d received prophecy from the cold, black Void; she’d seen the deranged spirits of beings long passed wailing of her demise. Needless to say, Ravenna had had fair warning. Perhaps she’d only recently begun to realize what the visions of death truly meant, had only recently begun to grasp the impending doom that was barreling toward her like a herd of frenzied horses, but she had most certainly known.

            Nothing, however, could have made that awful fate so clear as seeing her killer in the flesh. It was in that moment that she knew, truly knew and understood, what was going to happen, and despite all the forewarning she had received, despite all those years of unwitting preparation for this day, she was completely and utterly _terrified._

            The being was truly horrific in person, and the sight of him would have made any Aesir warrior shudder, much less a young apprentice. He was swathed in dark armor and robe, with not a single sliver of skin visible; a helm covered even his face, and only his eyes could be seen. All of his armor, including the helm, was engraved with strange runes that said things in a language Ravenna could not comprehend nor was sure she wanted to comprehend. A silver longsword was held tautly in his hand. He was taller than any Aesir she had ever seen, and an awful darkness permeated from his bones. His eyes were by far the worst, though; black irises bored into her own dark green ones, promising nothing but death.

            And then he began to trudge towards her.

            The thought did occur to Ravenna to run, but instead she held her ground, determined, at least, to keep her dignity intact. She tightened her grip on her sword, Tyrfing; although a fine blade, it was short and thin, more suited to swift attack and not so much intended for direct combat or to pierce heavy armor. It was a weapon meant to be used to target the enemy’s weak point, but she could see none on him, as covered in metal and shadow as he.

            Still he made his way toward her.

            Battle raged around them, her people and his sable army fighting to their deaths. Or, rather, the Aesirs’ deaths. Because they were, truly, dying in droves, the dark army beating them down into the cold, hard ground. Their blood painted the field.

That had distraught her before; she no longer paid any heed.

Because suddenly or finally—she wasn’t quite sure—he was there, and he swung the silver longsword at her. She dodged the blow, all too aware of the rush of air that hit her but also absentmindedly noticing the markings embedded in the weapon’s surface.

            Those runes, she’d seen them before—

            She parried another blow, just barely, before stumbling back and taking the offensive, leaping in an attempt to strike him on his side. He easily blocked her attack. She spun around and threw fire at him; it dissolved into nothingness around him. She threw another spell at him, and again it failed to harm him. She parried once, twice—

            And then the third time, she miscalculated, and his sword caught Tyrfing, effectively flinging her arm back and exposing her torso.

            It happened very quickly, really, so quickly that she couldn’t process it. All she knew was that the breath was knocked out of her, and that she felt every individual break of a rib as if it happened slowly.

            _Crack, crack, crack_

            When she looked down, she saw that the longsword had pierced her left side. She gazed up at him questioningly. His cold eyes held no answer. In a sudden motion, he withdrew his weapon, and then her mind caught up with her eyes and pain exploded everywhere.

            Gasping, she fell to her knees, arms hanging uselessly at her sides. The being looked down at her, and through the blurring of her two Sights she could have sworn she saw him, the true him, regardless of the armor he wore, and he was dark and evil and _awful._ Then, in spite of the strange distortions, she saw the bastard _smile._ Using both hands, he raised his sword above his head, ready to deal her the final blow.

            She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do what she did—maybe it was the sheer panic that ran through her much like the sword just had. She realized, in one profound moment, that if she did not stop him, Asgard and its allies would be defeated, and darkness would overtake the Nine Realms. At any rate, it was the last thing she truly knew.

            Before she was quite aware of what happened, she swung Tyrfing, sending with it all the magic that she still possessed in her small frame.

            The blade, to her great surprise, cut through him like butter, the sound of metal against metal resounding with a great _riiiing._ Her vision flashed once more, and she saw him there, recoiling as if he had been hit not with her small Tyrfing, but rather with a weapon akin to Gungnir. He leaned back and released an inhuman _scream_ to the heavens as he began to smolder, his armor shattering off and the charred, blackened skin beginning to crack. His eyes fixed on hers once again, conveying hatred and anger and a further myriad of unspeakable emotion, before they rolled back into his head.

            With a final great shake, he fell to the ground, a pile of ash and ember all that was left of the once terrifying being.

            Ravenna let out a sigh. Her sword clunked to the ground beside her. Her vision sharpened, hazed over, and then she, too, fell.

 

_Feasts were a common occurrence in Asgard, celebrations for battles won or coming-of-age ceremonies, so it came as no surprise to Ravenna that there would be one tonight. The atmosphere of the festival was abuzz with excitement and cheer as warriors young and old recounted the long-awaited victory in Nornheim. She heard their names all around her—Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three—and she would have stayed and listened to the warriors regale the youth with the grand tale, but, alas, she was searching for someone else._

_A quick sweep of the room was all it took to find him; he stood by Queen Frigga, face devoid all emotion except for boredom. It was his normal expression at events such as these, except that now he had to look bored out in the open instead of in the shadows. Ah, yes. The second Prince of Asgard was a strange one, indeed._

_Ravenna made her way over to him, carefully slipping past the other revelers and eventually breaking free of the crowd. It was then that he saw her, and for the first time that night, a smile broke out over his face._

_“Well then, my Prince,” she said, bowing somewhat mockingly as she stopped in front of him, “I take it that you must be having a truly awful time, if your countenance serves to tell me anything.”_

_“Oh, indeed,” he responded, chuckling. His eyes twinkled. “I fear my mother has been my only reprieve.”_

_Ravenna raised her eyebrows. “Am I then as intolerable as everyone else?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_Her glare was enough to bring another smile to his face. “I jest, of course.”_

_“Of course you do.”_

“Ravenna! Ravenna, can you hear me?”

 

_She examined herself in the mirror. The blue dress and cloak, the garb of the healers, made her feel strange—she had seen them walking around the corridors for most of her life, but had never expected to one day become one of them. Or wear their clothing, for that matter. She was accustomed to muted grays and browns, certainly not blues._

_“You’ll do fine, darling. Eir is already so fond of you!”_

_Ravenna sighed, meeting the reflection of her mother’s gaze._

_“I know, I just… well, I_ don’t _know. I’m honored that she’s offered to be my mentor, but…”_

_By this time, Sif had made her way over to her and rested a hand on her shoulder._

_“But what, darling?”_

_“But…”_

_Ravenna sighed again. “But I’m scared that I won’t measure up to her expectations. I’m just… I’m afraid of disappointing the both of you.”_

_“Eir and me?”_

_“No.”_

_Sif sighed and wrapped her arms around her. “He is already so proud of you, Ravenna. You needn’t worry.”_

_Ravenna turned to face her. “Do you think so?”_

_“I know so.”_

            “Eir, there must be something you can do—“

            “… There is _nothing_ I can do. Now please, go and find him. There isn’t much time.”

 

_“And do you swear to fulfill this quest to the best of your abilities, to complete it, even at the cost of your lives?”_

_Five young voices rang out and echoed in the throne room, full of confidence and vigor and life._

_“We swear!”_

            “Eir… Eir, please…”

            “I am truly sorry, but this is beyond even my capabilities. I have tried everything.”

 

_Clang! Clang!_

_Such was the sound every time the two blades met. Clang! Clang!_

_Ravenna was exhausted. They had been training for almost an hour now—why couldn’t she stop? Angry and frustrated, she hacked at him, but he easily parried the blow and disarmed her, the sword flying out of her hand._

_His expression was thunderous._

_“You leave on a quest in five days to face enemies more powerful than many of Asgard’s most senior warriors have faced, and this is the best you can do?”_

_“What do you expect of me?” she spat back. “I am a healer, not a soldier. Or have you forgotten that?”_

_“Of course I haven’t forgotten that,” he snarled, throwing his own sword down. “It is_ because _of that that I object to your taking part in it! If it had been my decision, you wouldn’t even have been chosen! You are unfit for battle and always have been. So don’t blame me if you_ die _, Ravenna—blame the All-father!_

_He stormed away, leaving her alone in the middle of the training yard. She tried to swallow the knot that had formed in her throat—tried, and failed. It wasn’t the long training session, or the harsh words he been throwing at her the whole evening, but the fear in his eyes that affected her the most. He was worried about her dying._

_The worst part? It wasn’t an if. It was a when._

            “I’ve already told you—“

            “You haven’t told me anything! Instead, you stand there, doing **nothing** while she lies there, dying—“

            “She _will_ die, and there is nothing I can do to help her. I can only ask that you stay with her until they take her. _That_ is the most that can be done now.”

            The silence was deafening.

            “Eir… Eir, I beg of you… Don’t let her die. I beg of you…”

 

            _The woman’s face was ever-changing, young and old, beautiful and monstrous. In front of her stood a tapestry, incomplete and unwound and re-sewn in every place, but magnificent all the same. It depicted everything—the very birth of Yggdrasil, Ragnarok itself, in all its bloody horror._

_Her death, even._

_She returned her gaze to the woman, whose gray eyes met hers._

_“My sisters and I have labored over this since the beginning of the universe. It is all that was, all that is, and all that will be, little Raven. The future however, is a fickle creature, and can be undone oh-so-easily. That, of course, is why we labor.”_

_“This tapestry… It doesn’t really exist, does it? You are simply showing this to me to make it easier to understand, to comprehend…”_

_The Norn eyed her curiously. “Indeed, little Raven, you are right. To try and have you grasp the entirety of the universe, well… That would be impossible for you to process, even if Fate_ has _gifted you with the Sight._

_That is a rare gift, you are well aware… Not many beings in the Nine Realms wield such power.”_

_Ravenna closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes… You mentioned that the future is a fickle creature. Does that… Does that mean that I might not die?_

_“Oh no, little Raven. Your death is perhaps the most certain of all fates.”_

            “Please, my little alskling…”

 

_It was madness, and she knew it, but what other choice did she have? They had all understood at the beginning of their journey that there would be a price to pay, and now was the time. Yet, as with so many other things in her life, Ravenna had not fathomed what it truly meant._

_Taking in a breath, she took her first steps toward the top of the hill._

_“Odin help me, this will surely mean my end…”_

            The Sight shifted yet again before her eyes, and it was in a burst of light that she saw her for the first time. She reached out and took Ravenna’s hand, grim and lovely all at once.

            _My sisters have told me much about you, little Raven._

            “I see her!” she gasped, green eyes wide and unseeing to the material world. “I see her!”

            He took her hand, his own green eyes filled with tears. “What is it you see, my little alskling?”

            “I… I see…”

            Another bright burst danced across her vision.

            Then her sight faded, and she saw no more.


End file.
